it's a riot!

Tear gas really isn't that bad, considering the alternatives. But exposure to the stuff when you've got a cold anyway can be really messy. I'm hoping that the curry that's on the go in the kitchens will help matters.

Along with Jess, Dave and a chap called Little Dave (a traveler from England who, I think, is destined to always find himself in the company of another Dave and so have to be qualified as 'Little') I'd headed out to see if the flea market was open. All the centre of town was cordoned off and, apart from thousands of soldiers and riot police, was largely deserted. I wish I'd had my I-Spy book of Colombian armed forces on me, I'm sure I could have ticked off every battalion and regiment.

Everything had stopped for the visit of George Bush, who, we knew, was due to sweep into town at any moment. I'm still not sure if we saw the presidential motorcade, there were several over the period of about an hour. Eventually we realised that there was no way that the fleamarket would be open, being as it is on the main drag. Having got so far we decided to keep walking and call over to my old flat to say hello to Sam. As we got to the Bull Ring we could see that there'd been some trouble. The road was full of bits of brick and there were dozens of tense-looking riot police around. These chaps are some of the best equiped I've ever seen. They wear the sort of full-cover body armour that Batman would be proud of and the rest of their equipment would be just the ticket for the Terminator. Quite a fearsome bunch when they're ready to go, but if you spot them off-duty with their helmets off they are just jolly laughing lads seeing through their national service like everyone else.

We had no other way to go than through a line of these chaps and up the hill towards La Macarena. Dave headed the other way to go and visit his baby son, unsure if he would make it through the security ring to the south. As we walked through the police line some looked at us a little askance, but they didn't seem to mind that we were heading towards a crowd of rioters. These had gathered a few blocks up, on the edge of a very pleasant little park. We stood to watch a while as there seemed to be what football comentators call 'a carnival atmosphere'. There was a thumping beat from several drums and many demonstrators were picking out a salsa rhythm with whistles. Just as I was wondering how they ever remembered to bring them an old chap came up with a whole bunch and offered us one for a very reasonable price. I almost bought one out of respect for his entrepreneurial spirit.

At about this time a phalanx of motorcycle police roared up to the crowd and came to a stop just before the front line of the cheerfully jigging mob. There were a few catcalls and a big increase in whistling, but nothing else, and after a few minutes the biker cops swung round and headed back the way they came. The crowd took this as some sort of victory and, with another increase in whistling, streamed off after them. Despite my relative lack of experience in rioting, I got the distinct impression that they were being led on to some sort of trap, so I suggested that we head up the steep slope towards the Pimp's Penthouse. We'd got about half way up when there was a whistling roar behind us and the whole mob began racing up the hill behind us, followed by the Robocops, who were now backed up by armoured vans with water cannons. We started running at their head, and because I was back in my old neighbourhood, I led the way down a quiet street. The mob followed. Again, we turned a right, and the mob followed, but this time coming from both ends. It looked for a moment like we were going to be caught right in the middle of the action (by this time a few rock throwers had arrived) but another cry went up and the protest moved back to where it had started after having run round the block. By this time we were all exhausted - we've all got the same chesty cold since living together and running up hills at nearly 9,000ft through air misty with tear gas is never easy. Particularly not when you're laughing so much you've stomach cramps as well. We made it to the old pad and relaxed on the balcony with a coffee.

Now I'm being called to work my magic with a sag aloo - potatoes with spinach. It's not usually a very spicy dish, but I'm planning on extra chillie to try to clear my tubes.